by Jerry Ahern
The protective details guarding the Rourke’s had reduced after Michael Rourke’s rescue from a full 24-hour, 7-day a week rotation of 8 men to a single shift, single person. Harry Livingston, the day shift Secret Service Agent, was monitoring the eight cameras that had been installed for 360 degree coverage of the outside perimeter of Paul’s property. Life in the cul-de-sac neighborhood had for all intents and purposes returned to normal.
“Mr. Rubenstein,” Livingston said looking up from the monitor screens, “do you have a UPS delivery schedule for today?”
Paul hollered back, “Not scheduled Harry, but I’m expecting a package from Mid-Wake. I didn’t think it would arrive before the day after tomorrow. Jose Zima must have found what I was looking for a lot easier than he expected. Why?”
“A truck just pulled up along the curb,” Livingston said. “He’s backing into the driveway. I’ll sign for it.”
“Thanks Harry.” Then Paul turned to Jack saying, “Son, there is a large cardboard box in the crawl space above the garage marked ‘Wildman.’ Would you go get it for me?”
“Sure Dad,” Jack said and headed to the garage. He dropped the ceiling mounted stairs and climbed up, switching on the lights in the small attic.
Harry Livingston was standing at the open front doors as the UPS truck backed slowly up the drive before making a sharp turn and inexplicably cutting directly across the front yard. “What the hell?” Livingston shouted at the driver, “Get off the grass you idiot!” At that instant, the two double doors at the back of the truck flew open and a green energy blast slammed into Livingston. The bolt of green lightening blew a hole through Livingston and took out a portion of the wall behind him with a blast of sound almost as loud as thunder.
Paul jumped to his feet and made a lunge for his Schmeisser on a rack above the fireplace. “Hold it Mr. Rubenstein,” said a cold voice, and Paul stopped not yet half way to the 9mm sub gun.
“Hands up,” the voice said. Paul raised his hands slowly and turned. Two other men entered the front door, stepping over Livingston’s body, and began searching the house.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” Rubenstein shouted at the top of his voice. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Who I am is unimportant. What I want is you, and what I’m doing is taking you prisoner,” said the man. He stood a little over six feet tall with hard chiseled features. Paul denoted a slight accent in the man’s voice. Had this been before the Night of the War, Paul would have been tempted to describe it as Eastern European. The man was well-muscled, clean shaven, and projected an aura that said no-nonsense would be tolerated. “Where are the other members of your family?” he asked after the other two returned. Both shook their heads silently.
“Everybody else left several minutes ago,” Paul said. “I’m here alone, except for the agent you just killed; his name was Harry Livingston.”
“When will they be back?” the man asked.
“Not for several hours,” Paul answered.
“Check the garage,” the man ordered. “The garage door was down when we pulled up; see if they are out there.”
One of the other two attackers went to the door that lead into the garage from the kitchen and looked. Then, he advanced into the garage to check the other side of the station wagon parked there. Thirty seconds later, he reentered the kitchen and closed and locked the door. “No one is out there; there is only one personnel door at the back of the garage, and it has a latch locked from the inside.”
“Damn it,” the man said. “We wanted the entire family, but you will have to do.”
Paul breathed a sigh of relief; Jack must have realized what was happening and had been able to pull up the stairs. It wasn’t much edge, but at least his son was safe for the moment. The leader went to the fireplace and pulled down the Schmeisser, removed the magazine, and after checking the empty chamber, dropped the weapon and magazine on the floor.
“So,” Paul said, “what happens now?”
“Bind him,” the man ordered. Paul held out his hands in front of him, and zip ties were affixed to his wrists by a man Paul now designated as Number Two. Paul was roughly shoved onto the couch, and his legs were zip tied together at the ankles. The third man searched the rest of the house for more weapons, finding Paul’s old Browning and a variety of other weapons. These, he unloaded and discarded. “Now,” the man said with a trace of a smile. “Now, we wait.”
*****
Tim Shaw had not yet entered his private office when his phone rang. Pulling his cell phone out, he opened it and seeing the number said, “Hello, Jack...” Shaw stopped dead in his tracks then signaled another agent to start a trace and to begin recording the call. Grabbing a tablet and pencil, he asked, “Where are you? Do you know how many? Okay, listen to me; sit tight, right where you are. Turn the ringer off on your phone right now. Don’t accept any calls from anyone but me. Sit quietly, and don’t move around. Turn the light off in the attic.”
Shaw started writing and held up a sheet of paper that said: “Hostage situation Rubenstein’s house, agent dead, Paul captured, Jack hiding; roll our team.” The office exploded into a flurry of activity.
“Jack,” Shaw said, “you are doing very well; I’m proud of you son. Now, give me a few minutes, and I’ll call you back. You turned off your ringer? Good. Make sure the light is off, and lay down behind some boxes if you can. Just don’t move around more than you have too.” I’m hanging up now.
Shaw directed an agent, “I want the full protective details reinstated on the Rourke family. Get on the phone and contact Annie Rubenstein; check the GPS on her cell phone, find out her location, and dispatch a team to her. Emma Rourke and the girls are with her. Let the President know.”
He dialed the number for John Rourke, “John, Tim Shaw; we have a problem. Where are you? Good, stay there and stand by the phone—give me five minutes, and I’ll call you back.” Hanging up before Rourke could even ask a question, Shaw turned back to the agents in the “bull pen.”
Shaw sat down, took a deep breath then began barking orders. “I want HPD and County notified now. I want a ring cordon around the area for three blocks in any direction. I want a second ring three blocks out from there and a third one three blocks further out. I want County to set up road blocks on any road that can exit that area. Then, contact the fire department and start evacuating the area, starting with the outermost ring and moving progressively inside. I want eyes in the sky and a patrol boat off the coastline near the house. I want SWAT and the Hostage Rescue Team to establish a command post in the second ring as soon as it is evacuated.”
Taking a cigarette from a pack in his shirt pocket, he fished out his lighter and rolled the wheel. It took three tries before he got the cigarette lit; then, he made the call. “John,” Shaw said, “Paul has been taken hostage at his home. Jack is hiding in the crawl space attic above the garage. He has a cell phone and got word to me; I told him to turn the ringer off and only accept calls from me. I have one agent down. There are three armed men in the home. I’m cordoning off the entire subdivision, and we’ll start evacuating the area in layers from the outside and moving inward. Paul and Jack are alright for now. The rest of the family was not home; I’m sending protective details to cover them. I don’t have any other details right now; you know as much as I do.”
Shaw listened for a response; it took almost a minute before Rourke answered. “I understand John,” Shaw said. “As soon as we have the command post established, I’ll let you know its location, and I’ll meet you there.” Flipping the phone shut, Tim took another drag of the cigarette before crushing it out. Wiping his face slowly with both hands, Shaw quietly said, “Shit” before standing and looking around at the people watching him. “Let’s go people!” he shouted clapping his hands together for emphasis. “We have to develop a plan. I want facts, not your conclusions; ‘a conclusion is just the place where you got tired of thinking.’”
*****
Emma’s phon
e squealed in her purse; she saw John’s number and answered, “Hey Babe... Yes, we’re at the mall.” Now, she listened, “Okay, hold on a moment. Annie, could you pull over for a moment?” Annie Rubenstein guided the car into the parking lot. “What?” she asked, trying to get information from Emma.
“I understand John,” Emma said and folded the phone closed. Taking a deep breath, she turned to her daughter-in-law, “Annie, there is a problem. All I know right now is that Paul has been taken hostage at your house. Jack has not been, and he is okay for right now. We are to wait here for Secret Service Agents to contact us.”
The blood from Annie’s face drained, and Natalie and Paula began to cry in the back seat.
Two black SUVs pulled in behind their car, and agents from their protective details they recognized secured the area. “Mrs. Rubenstein, Mrs. Rourke, we have an incident, and I have been instructed to ask you to accompany us to secure location. May I ask you to secure your vehicle, please? Mrs. Rubenstein, would you and your daughter accompany Agent Jones? Mrs. Rourke, I need you and your daughter to accompany us, please.”
*****
Within 45 minutes, the outside and second rings of the cordons had been established, and the 140 homes and businesses within them had been evacuated. The Command Post had been set up within two blocks of Paul and Annie Rubenstein’s home. It took another 30 minutes to evacuate the inner ring, all without incident. The HPD command trailer, one from the County Sheriff’s office and a Secret Service van, were now linked with direct communications, not only to each other but also including fire and city utilities. A no-fly zone had been established, allowing news choppers no closer than one mile from Paul’s home.
Two Coast Guard patrol boats had been stationed approximately a mile off the beach located across from the scene and behind a row of homes that completed the south side of the cul-de-sac. John Rourke and Tim Shaw had stepped outside the Secret Service van and were discussing options. Rourke exhaled a long plume of cigar smoke and turned to Shaw, “Tim, I need to know how the protective details were pulled. It’s only been six days since we recovered Michael; that seemed a bit early, and now I have to examine whether that was a setup to create this situation.”
“John,” Shaw said obviously uncomfortable, “I don’t know how they were pulled. After Mike’s rescue, I think people just assumed the threat was over; but, I’m checking to find out.” Rourke started to speak, but Tim held up his hand, “I know, I know. When you assume, it makes an ass out of you and me. John, all I can say is I’m sorry.”
Rourke took another drag and said, “Okay, it is what it is. What are we going to do about it?”
“The negotiator is ready to make contact with the house. Let’s go back in and see what we’re dealing with.”
*****
Paul Rubenstein checked the wall clock. Nearly two hours and forty-five minutes had elapsed since the start of this; still, there was no contact from the outside. I wonder if anybody even knows, he thought. Then, the phone rang.
The leader motioned for Paul to pick it up, “Put it on speaker, so I can hear both sides of the conversation.” Scooting on his butt across the hardwood floor to the coffee table, Paul sat up and, having to use both hands, answered the phone, “Hello.”
“Mr. Rubenstein, this is Agent Layne Gretski with the Secret Service; are you alright sir?”
“Yes, I am for the moment.”
“Mr. Rubenstein, I have been authorized to tell you that Mrs. Rubenstein, your daughter, and your son are okay. Mrs. Rourke and her daughter are okay as well. Do you understand?”
Thank God, Paul thought, Jack is okay, and they are in touch with him. Good boy, Jack. “Yes, I understand.”
“Good,” Gretski said. “May I speak to whoever is in charge?” Paul held up the handset of the phone to the leader; he smiled and, taking the phone, said, “Yes.”
“This is Agent Layne Gretski with the Secret Service; may I ask to whom I speaking with?”
“You may ask, but we both know I’m not going to give you my real name. Why don’t you just call me Richard?”
“Very good, Richard how can we resolve this issue?”
“Layne, I’m fully aware of your standard procedures in a situation like this. Understand; I’m not willing to negotiate. The plan is simple. I will tell you what I want; you will give it to me, or Mr. Rubenstein will die. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Richard but surely there is something I can get for you, something to make this a little less stressful. What would that be, Richard?”
“Very good Layne, here’s how it is going to work; I do not want to see a chopper, a cop, or anybody. I realize you have evacuated the area; by the way, that was very smooth. I almost did not see anyone; from this point forward, I DON’T WANT TO SEE ANYONE AT ALL. I don’t even want to think there might be someone out there. Do you understand?”
“Yes Richard, I can see you probably have more experience at this than I do. I understand, and there will be no one in the area; I give you my word.”
“Good Layne, by now, I assume that all I have to do to speak with you is pick up the phone and you will be on the other end, correct?”
“Yes, Richard that is correct.”
“Good, then wait until I contact you. By the way, unfortunately, we have one casualty, your agent; Livingston I believe is his name. You may recover his body which is now lying in the front yard. I will allow one ambulance with a driver and attendant. They are to pull in front of the house, parking in the street. The driver and one attendant may recover the body, load Agent Livingston on a gurney, and place that gurney in the ambulance. They are to continue around the cul-de-sac and immediately leave the area. If there are any deviations from my instructions, I’ll kill both of them and leave all of the bodies to rot. Do you understand?”
“Yes Richard, is it acceptable for the ambulance to arrive within the next 15 minutes?”
“Yes Layne, that is acceptable,” Richard said and broke the connection.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Give me your phone Tim,” Rourke said. Shaw handed it to him, and Rourke dialed a number. In a whispered voice, Jack answered, “Hello...”
“Jack, it’s Grandpa John. Are you okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Jack said in a barely audible whisper. “Is Dad okay?”
“Yes Son, he is. Now listen, after this phone call, I don’t want you to speak on the phone; you might be overheard. When we talk again, I’ll ask you some questions. You are to turn the light in the attic on and off to answer. One short blink is for yes and a long blink is for no; two short blinks mean you don’t know, understand? In a few minutes, there will be an ambulance pulling up. When you see it, wait until the men step out of it then do a short and long blink. Try to keep those same patterns. If we ask for numbers after that, do three short blinks, wait a couple of seconds, and then do the number of blinks needed to answer the question. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Grandpa.”
“Good boy, Jack. We’ll get you guys out of there; I promise. Now, hang up.”
“Love you Grandpa.”
“Love you too, Son,” Rourke said and handed the phone back to Shaw. “Okay, we have eyes, and we can get some intel as long as we keep it simple.” Shaw nodded. He called the ambulance attendant over to where he and Rourke stood. “Yes sir,” the young attendant said.
“Okay boy, how well can you fall?” Rourke asked.
“Excuse me sir?”
Shaw handed him a green small device. “This is a video camera. On the front side of the garage facing the street is a small decorative window. When you get out of the ambulance, I want you to slip and fall down. I want you to drive the spike on the camera into the ground so that the camera is pointed at the garage. It has a fish eye lens, so it doesn’t have to be perfect. Do you think you can handle that?”
“What’s your name son?” Rourke asked.
“It is Dale, Mr. Rourke.”
“Dale, my best friend, and my grandson
are in that house. I need your help, and you have to be careful; the bad guys will be watching you from the house. If you can’t plant this camera without getting caught, forget it; but if you can, it will really help us.”
Dale squared his shoulders, “I won’t let you down Mr. Rourke; I promise.”
*****
Ten minutes later, the ambulance pulled up in front of the house. The driver parked in the middle of the road, not next to the curb. He got out first, pulled the gurney from the back, released the latch, and raised it to its full height. Dale exited on his side, walked to the rear of the ambulance where the driver waited, and together they started moving toward the yard where the blasted body of Agent Harry Livingston lay.
The driver was pushing the gurney with both hands. Dale had his hands fully extended above his head; when he stepped onto the curb, he slipped, falling face down, arms fully in front of him, and unable to catch himself. He laid there for a moment to gather his senses. The driver stopped. Dale pushed up from the ground, stood up, and slowly raised his hands back above his head; together, they retrieved Livingston’s body and returned to the ambulance then loaded up and drove off.
“Perfect,” Shaw said looking at the video feed. The camera, barely a half-inch in size, was functioning flawlessly, and it was in the correct position. “John, come here and take a look at this.” Rourke walked over and smiled.
“Give me that phone again, Tim.”
Jack opened the phone but didn’t speak; Rourke said, “Excellent Jack; now blink the light once. Very good, I can see it. How many people are in the house?” There were three short blinks then three long ones, “Are you saying three people?” There was one short blink. “Good Jack, are they all in the house?” One short blink. “Are they all in the same room?” Two short blinks, he didn’t know. “Are you still okay?” One short blink. “Good boy, I’ll call you back in a little while, okay?” One short blink.